


Discord Prompts

by SoulfireInc



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, Dani whump, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Gil whump, I don't know where this'll end up but let's find out together, JT Whump, Malcolm Bright Whump, Prompt Fic, Whump, some contain mcd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23351347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulfireInc/pseuds/SoulfireInc
Summary: Some whumpy mini!fics from prompt sprints in Discord. Warning: there's a fluffy one.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 34
Kudos: 83
Collections: Flash Fics - PSON Whump Discord





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).



> I had fun writing these so I thought I'd share! Will add chapters if we do more prompting/if I ever decide to sit down and do actual drabbles. Huge thanks to our PromptKeeper Jameena, for being wonderful! Prompts in bold.

**GHOSTS**

Children believe in ghosts. It makes sense to them, like tooth fairies and Santa Claus. Death is too complex a concept for them to grasp. To complete. Too final. How could something be gone _forever?_

Malcolm was just nearing the age to pretend he didn't believe in ghosts when they came to him.

At first it was just one. The girl.

Then more came. More names, more faces a more respectable cop would never have shown a ten-year-old. More spectral weight on his narrow shoulders.

The older he grew, the more freedom he sought, the more information he found on them. He knew their names. Their birthdates. Death dates. Causes of death. Next of kin. Cemeteries.

By the time he left Quantico, he had a personal army of private horrors. His father's gifts were joined by all the lives he didn't save in the field. The price of every mistake. 

But he didn't mind. He'd take a thousand of them.

Because his little sister thought ghosts weren't real.

* * *

**SWAY**

It was a beautiful day. Really. Clear skies. A truly beautiful shade of blue marked only by the vibrant green of leaves swaying in the breeze above him.

He couldn't feel the wind. He was too cold for that. Lost too much blood.

But that was okay. The trees were watching over him. He didn't have to die alone.

He hoped someone would take Sunshine in. Maybe Gil would, if his cats were safe. Maybe Dani. She'd always liked the little bird.

Malcolm took a breath that tasted of copper. It stung, deep inside. The bullet probably broke a rib. Maybe punctured a lung. That would explain the wheezing. He blinked, at the blackness stayed longer than it should.

He focused on the trees. Dancing gently, side to side. An easy wave of private delight. Sun shimmering on the leaves. If he focused, he could almost feel the breeze caress his cheek. Could almost imagine how it would feel to be a tree. Alone, but connected. Surrounded by friends. Swaying in the breeze.

He took a breath, lids sliding closed.

Swaying, swaying ...

* * *

**CLING**

"Hold on, kid," Gil called, edging his way further down the fire escape.

"Y-yeah," Malcolm said, tone light despite the wavering syllables. "Think I will."

His knuckles were white around the broken banister. He couldn't resist glancing down. The alley eight stories below glistened after the recent rain. Somewhere down his phone lay shattered.

Hopefully he wouldn't be next.

But sweat greased his grip. And Gil was still two floors up.

"Gil –! I'm not – I can't –"

_"Hold on,"_ he barked, the order weighted with suppressed fear.

His fingers slipped. The banister groaned as it bowed further over the drop. He gasped out a painful breath.

"GIL!" he shouted, clinging to the metal with all he had and knowing it wasn't enough. _"DON'T LOOK!"_

"MALCOLM!”

His hands slid free with a shock that was a punch to his heart. His stomach jolted, twisting in anticipation as he fell.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

**SINK**

  
  


Malcolm pressed the tap slowly, hands still shaking. The water rushed out in a torrent of bubbles, the stream white and far too loud. He flinched. The water whirled over his skin but he barely felt it. He couldn't tell if it was cold or he was. It ran pink as it sluiced off him.

The door opened. He didn't need the glance in the mirror to know it would be Gil.

He stood beside him, leaning his back against the counter. The water stopped and he pushed the knob again.

"How you doing, kid?" he asked softly.

Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. A muscle in his jaw feathered. He kept his gaze on the pink froth racing down the drain, the red drops stark against the white of the sink.

"You did everything you could, you know."

_No. I could've done more._

"She's alive because of you. And you know Dani. Tougher than both of us. She'll make it through."

"You know –" he stopped, cleared his throat. Tried again with a steadier voice. "You know how much blood a body can lose before there's irreparable harm? How long the brain can last without oxygen without suffering permanent damage?"

"No." Gil edged closer. "But you do."

The water was clear now, but he kept his hands under the flow. He didn't feel clean yet. Maybe never would.

Gil put a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed.

"She'll be okay, Bright. You saved her."

The water dripped to a halt.

"We'll see."

* * *

**SCRABBLE**

_"Pellucid?"_ JT read, voice skeptic. "That's not a word."

"Yeah it is," Dani said, thumbs tapping wildly through the agreed dictionary app. _"'Allowing the maximum passage of light, as glass; translucent',"_ she quoted smugly. "Or clear writing. Either way, your turn."

JT grumbled incoherently and placed a few tiles on the board.

"There. Vet. Nothing fancy. Double word score." He sat back with an air of satisfaction that was at odds with a board containing _enzymes_. "Your turn, Bright."

Malcolm leaned forward, inspecting the words. The precinct was quiet, calm. Edrisa's rush report would be ready in another hour. Plenty of time to crush these two.

He smiled. "Thanks, Judas Terrence. I needed a V."

JT rolled his eyes. "Just move, man."

Malcolm slid the tiles into place, unable to help the way his smile softened into something rarer. Dani noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, setting the final tile down. "Just an appropriate word, that's all."

_"Kvell?"_ JT read. "No way that's real. K and V do not go together. I call bullshit."

"It's a real word!" He nodded to Dani. "Check your app. It's German, initially. Bit of Yiddish influence."

"Oh yeah," JT challenged. "Then what's it mean?"

_"To be extraordinarily pleased; especially to be bursting with pride as over one's family,"_ Dani read.

They both looked at him.

"Appropriate word?"

Malcolm shrugged, not quite able to make eye contact, and busied himself with replenishing his tiles.

There was a beat of silence.

"That's sweet as shit, man. Come here."

JT pulled him into a hug as he blushed furiously.

"You idiots," Dani sighed. But she stood and leant over, so she could join in too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally broke a small Finish girl with AGONY – you have been warned. Also SKIP contains the kind of fluff you may not want to read AND I AM NOT SORRY BLAME JAMEENA

**QUIRK**

Malcolm slumped in his chair, breath leaving him in an audible _oof_. Dani glanced up over the pile of files on her desk.

"You good?"

He nodded, eyes dropping shut a tad longer than he meant. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, willing the exhaustion to abate. He couldn't remember how long it'd been since he'd last slept. Four days? Five, maybe. Didn't matter. He turned his attention back to the report waiting half-filled on his computer. He blinked at the screen, willing the blurriness to subside.

_"Bright."_

He jumped, glancing up at Dani. Judging by her expression that wasn't the first time she'd said his name.

"Yeah?"

"Go home. _Sleep."_

His lips quirked in a smile as he reached for the dregs of his cold coffee. "I'm good, Dani. Don't worry about me."

She hummed, unconvinced. A beat later, she stood, whipping her jacket off the back of her chair.

"I'm taking you home, zombie boy."

He squinted up at her. "’Zombie boy’?"

She shrugged. "Call it like I see 'em. Come on. Move your butt."

* * *

**VOLATILE**

"Okay," Malcolm said calmly, keeping his tone forcibly light and steady. "Nobody move."

JT froze, dark eyes flicking to him. "What you got, Bright?"

Malcolm swallowed. "Um –" He cleared his throat. "You know. A bomb."

_"What?"_ Dani hissed.

"Y-yeah. Em. It's a weird one. Looks like old dynamite. And I mean _old_."

JT edged carefully forward. "Let me see."

Malcolm shifted sideways, letting JT peer into the crate that was meant to only hold contraband assault rifles. He glanced up and saw a muscle feather in JT's jaw.

"Bad?"

"Bad. We don't want to so much as breathe on this guy. Major volatility. See that gunk that looks like rust? Means it could blow at any second. Literally, a gust of wind. Everybody out. We need BSU."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Dani muttered, leading the way out of the warehouse. Malcolm, however, hesitated.

"Bright. Move. _Now."_

"Evidence," he said, chewing his lip. "If it blows we'll have nothing to tie –"

"Okay that's a nope," JT said, putting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and, once they were a step away from the bomb, he ducked down and threw Malcolm over his shoulder. "You're not going through a window again, bud."

"Josiah Truffout _if you don't put me down right –"_

JT shrugged, cutting Malcolm's indignation off with a grunt. "Just enjoy the ride, Bright."

* * *

**TAPE**

If you worked as long as Gil had in the NYPD, being wary of packages delivered to your desk was just common sense. Well worth the awkwardness of having it checked over by BSU.

But this time the precaution proved unnecessary. It was a VHS tape, the label sporting a crudely etched _READ ME_. The brief shot of nostalgia evaporated as Gil sent for a player.

He thought about calling JT and Dani in. Knew he should. But instinct held him back. Besides, they were still running up leads on Bright.

Gil's heart twinged painfully. Almost sixty hours since he'd disappeared. Nothing but a blood stain to go off of.

Until now.

Gil slid the VHS into the player and woke up the ancient TV. Static fuzzed across the screen before warping into the dimly lit interior of a warehouse. Hanging by his wrists under a single naked bulb was Bright.

His jacket and waistcoat were gone, shirt hanging loose and bloody, half torn off one arm. His head hung low. Gil's nails bit into his palm. His breath caught.

The camera moved shakily forward, dipping to peer up through Bright's dishevelled hair. His eyes were open, staring. Unseeing. Ice slithered down his chest. The last time he'd seen that look in that face the kid hadn't spoken for three months.

_"Say hello to your friends,"_ a high male voice cooed into the camera.

Bright didn't respond. A fist ripped into his temple, blood trickling in its wake.

_"Say_ hello!"

Bright's dazed gaze slowly, _slowly_ , found the lens. He blinked once, understanding, then his gaze slid upwards to his tormentor.

_"Kill me."_

* * *

**FOOTSTEPS**

Malcolm swung idly. A few inches left. A couple right. Twisting gently. He wasn't sure if he was breathing, but, since he wasn't dead yet he supposed he was. Couldn't feel it. It was lost to the burn in his shoulders, the numb pressure of his wrists. The stinging ache in his side that was probably a broken rib. Or three.

He blinked languidly. Bloody saliva dripped off his lip. He swung. Swayed.

It was strange, really. He always feared silence and now that he'd been left alone in it for hours on end it wasn't so bad. But maybe that was just because the Girl had stopped screaming at him. Maybe his brain was too tired to conjure her.

If he had any will to, he would've smiled at the irony.

A distant tapping slowly slunk into his awareness. He blinked. His ruined mind clunked slowly into gear.

Footsteps.

No. Not again. Not – he couldn't – he couldn't breathe –

The ropes bit into his flesh, hot blood stinging his unfeeling wrists and snaking along his arms as he fought again, pointlessly, to free himself. He couldn't take more of this. It'd been days. _Days_. He just – he'd rather die.

He'd rather die.

The door creaked open behind him. The footsteps were slaps on his mind, echoes of the whip that'd ripped his back open. He closed his eyes and thought of Sunshine.

A hand appeared on his cheek and he was too exhausted to flinch away. It shook him, forcing his eyes open. He looked up and froze.

_"Gil."_

* * *

**AGONY**

Pain is relative.

Anyone who's lived can tell you that. What we can endure is measured by what we we believe ourselves capable of. Who we believe ourselves to be. Agony is a subjective term. Not one Gil used lightly.

The bullet had ripped through his chest, missing his heart by three-quarters of an inch. Not that he knew that. He didn't know his lung was filling with blood either, though every breath was a copper-tainted struggle. One of his ribs had splintered, one particularly robust shard one wrong move away from puncturing his liver. The pool of blood that was his bed was cooling, congealing around him. He couldn't move his left arm, didn't even have the strength or breath to turn his head, despite every fibre of his failing heart begging him to look away.

But this was only pain. It was nothing.

Looking at Bright, his eyes wide and glassy and flanked by blood from the bullet in his forehead. _That._

That was agony.

* * *

**X-RAYS**

Doctor Conor Lawson sank into the battered break room sofa with a sigh, watery coffee sloshing in hand.

"You alright over there?"

He glanced up to Sara, exhaling in one long breath.

"Yeah. Just ... rough patient."

"Yeah?" Sara picked up her salad and came to sit beside him. The sofa deflated another few inches.

"Yeah. Little kid. Twelve years old. Cop brought him in, had to wait an hour for his mom. Had to do X-RAYS."

"Bad? What happened."

Conor took a sip of his not-coffee. "Best I can figure, kids happened."

She raised her eyebrows. "What?" she managed around a mouthful of carrot and chickpea.

Conor nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Kid has a dislocated shoulder, bruised rib. But the images, God, they showed healed breaks. _Tons_ of them. Eight I could count at a glance. His arm too."

"Jesus. Do we need to call social services?"

"I asked the cop but he said there was no need. He knew the family. Said it wasn't the mother. Father's in jail. It was just other _kids."_

Sarah swallowed another bite and shifted. "You believe him?"

The brown water insulting life-saving elixir sloshed in the cup. Conor nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"How come? Sounds like a load of –"

"Surname's Whitly."

There was a beat of silence.

"Oh."

* * *

**SKIP**

Malcolm's phone buzzed on the counter. Sniffing, he ran the back of his hand over his eyes and picked it up. Glanced at the screen.

"Hey, Dani."

_"You running late?"_

He swallowed, trying to clear his throat subtly. "Um, yeah. Actually, I, uh ... I'm not gonna make it."

There was a beat of incredulity.

_"Bright. You can't_ skip _Tally's baby shower."_

"I know. I know. Look, Dani, something ... came up. I ... I've got to go."

_"Bright. You good?"_

He sniffed again. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I've got to go. Have fun."

He hung up before she could say anything. Turned his attention back to his other hand.

He ran his forefinger along the delicate fluff of Sunshine's feathers. His breath shook as he nudged her little feet. Stroked her tiny beak. He brought her still body up to his cheek and gulped down the sobs. Tears slid onto her bright plumage, tufting the feathers. He smoothed them out carefully, wiping the moisture away from his cheeks.

He'd promised her he'd take care of her. Promised himself he was good enough to keep her alive. Keep her happy.

He'd failed.

"I'm sorry, Sunshine." He kissed her head, holding the contact for a long, aching moment. "Bye-bye, beautiful girl."


	3. Chapter 3

**PRETTY LITTLE THING**

It was a ... scattered crime scene. Evidence tags spanned almost a quarter-mile. Gore was splattered like someone had been carrying overflowing cans of red paint. The trees stood like sentries amid the yellow tape and plastic markers, offering a peace that only made the victims' remains look more tragic.

Dani squatted by the first John Doe, lying beside a clutch of wildflowers. Malcolm crouched opposite, eyes alight with that unerring focus he summoned for casework. She watched him a moment, eyes raking over every hidden detail, seeing things she never would. His gaze darted and excitement lit his face.

"You got something?"

"Yes! Wow, look at this."

He reached into the wildflowers by the corpse's head. Dani leant forward, arm outstretched.

"Bright don't touch the –"

"Well hello," he cooed, raising his hand and beaming down at the ladybird scuttling over his finger. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?" He glanced up at her, eyes alight like a little kid's. "Dani! A ladybug!"

They were in the middle of a gruesome triple homicide and he not only spotted but stopped to appreciate a _bug_. She couldn't stop her answering grin, but quickly dropped her chin to hide the affection welling in her eyes.

What a weirdo.

* * *

**ZAP**

Lightning zipped through the air in momentary scars, slashing the night open before it healed. Rain had drowned New York for days. The streets were painted with puddles. Malcolm wanted nothing more than to be home, with Sunshine, and a cup of hot tea. Or at the precinct, with his team. That would be far better to this.

Kellerman had Dani by the throat, knife held against it in one hand, a taser pressed into her ribs with the other. Gil and JT were pinned, guns held toward the ground as Malcolm stepped slowly forward, speaking softly. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rain and occasional rumble of looming thunder. Kellerman hesitated, raising the taser to point at Malcolm as he took another step, water rippling along the puddle in a tiny tsunami.

Malcolm could see it in his eyes. This man was trapped. Taken a wrong turn. A crime of opportunity by a desperate man in need of help. Not a killer. Not really. Just someone who was scared and trapped.

Which is why he took another step, hands held up in friendship. As he did lightning ripped right above them, momentarily blinding, the thunder roaring in its wake. Kellerman started, jerking Dani, the knife cutting a line of red into her skin. In panic, Kellerman threw the taser at Malcolm, the bits zapping furiously. It fell over a foot short, which shouldn't have been a problem.

Except that it was.

The taser flashed into the puddle, electricity zinging hungrily through it, desperate for something to devour. Then it found Malcolm.

He didn't even have time to breathe. It hit him with the force of a train, a concentrated fire burning through him with cruel indifference and he heard his own breath halt, a garbled grunt broken as his legs gave out and he fell into the water, the splash far too loud in his ears. The taser was still on, still scorching through him and he couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, couldn't think. His body seized, shaking, convulsing and why wasn't the water dousing the flames? Why wasn't the rain quenching the fire?

Somewhere above him, he heard a gunshot. A shout. The wet slap of frantic footsteps. Something plastic skidding on tarmac and the burning finally stopped. He managed one full breath before everything was erased in a roll of thunder.

* * *

**JUST GET OUT OF HERE ALREADY**

Malcolm could see the sweat on JT's brow. A bead trickled past his eyebrow, disappearing quickly behind his jaw and into his neckline. Malcolm followed its path down to the eight blocks of C4 strapped to JT's chest. Enough to level the entire block.

"Tell me you got a way outta this, Bright," he said, his soldier's tone even despite the fear hiding in his eyes.

Malcolm shot him an offended glance. "Of course I do. You have to ask? First, I'm gonna untie you." He edged forward slowly, as though a wrong move would set the bomb off. Which it might. "Dani? pass me your knife."

She pulled it free of her ankle holster and slid it carefully across the warehouse floor. Malcolm stooped for it and flicked it open, giving JT a bracing smile as he set the blade between his wrists and pulled. The zip tie snapped free and JT jerked, then froze. So did Malcolm.

Nothing happened.

"Well that was dramatic. Okay, I'm pretty sure the receiver is in this little box here." He gestured to the wires connecting the black plastic to the C4.

"Pretty sure?" JT repeated, sounding less than thrilled.

"Yeah. Like eighty percent." He slid the tip of the knife under the lid and slowly pried it open.

"Bright," Gil warned. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful," he muttered and JT snorted. "Hold still, JT."

"You guys should leave," he said, voice thick with the order he didn't have the authority to give.

"We're staying," Dani said before Gil could back him up.

"Yeah. I got this." The box flipped open. Inside was a nest of six wires intertwined, three blinking lights throwing tiny glowing shadows on them. "Huh."

"Huh?"

Malcolm glanced up to JT and back. "Em ... maybe you two should go," he said over his shoulder to the others. "This ... could get messy."

"Bright, BSU is en route, if we just wait –"

"Yeah, we don't have time for that," he said quickly, watching the red light flick to green. "I think I just armed it."

_"What!"_

"But it's okay! It's a pretty basic detonator, I figure I've got a sixty-forty chance of getting it right."

"Bright, you can't –"

"Just get out already," JT shouted. "Go! Just – tell Tally I'm sorry!"

Footsteps echoed behind Malcolm and he knew his time was almost up. Gil would carry him out if he had to.

"Just let me try –" he started, hooking the blade under the yellow wire.

"Bright! _Don't!"_

He pulled. The wire snapped.

Nothing happened. The green light flicked off.

JT unfroze, letting out a deep sigh.

"I freaking hate you, bro."

Malcolm beamed back at him. "You're welcome, Jamie Trent."

* * *

**UTENSIL**

The decadence of the hall was lost to the cloud of bloodshed. Malcolm picked his way through the shattered plates, the bowtie at his neck suddenly too tight. He swallowed hard, one hand raised placatingly. Harkins was trapped and she knew it, but that only made her more dangerous. Her makeup was marred by the splatter of blood from where she'd bludgeoned her fiancé's head with a bottle of wine.

He should've seen this coming. There had been clues. The desperation of the first victim, the brutality of the second. The burgeoning betrayal of Eric taking the job in Chicago.

But then, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

He was almost to her. The insanity in her eyes was fading. At his bidding, she let the broken bottle fall to her stilettoed feet. Malcolm straightened, smiling encouragingly.

"That's good, Alice. That's good. Now I need you to come with me, okay? We just need to talk."

She watched him, unblinking, as he drew level with her.

"You're going to take me to jail."

He swallowed again. "You killed three people, Alice. But we can help you."

He didn't see her hand reach behind her to the table still laid for the rehearsal dinner.

"I'm not going back there," she warned, eyes hardening. "I won't."

Malcolm made the mistake of taking one more step. "I promise, Alice, I can –"

Her arm whipped forward, silver flashing a moment before a sharp, blunt pain punched into Malcolm's chest. He coughed, looking down at the ornate handle of the utensil, staggering back. His breath stung and before his brain could catch up to what had happened his hand was wrapped around the handle and in one, quick jerk he pulled it free of his chest. Bright ruby blood painted the spoon, glistening with a beauty that didn't match the pain searing in his breast.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Alice ducked sideways, racing for the exit with all the speed possible with three-inch heels on. Gil and JT grabbed her before she could leave, Dani finally catching up to Malcolm.

"You good? You're bleeding!"

"Yeah," he mumbled, holding up the spoon. "She stabbed me. With a spoon."

Dani bit her lip.

"What?"

"She spooned you."

Malcolm chuckled – then quickly sank against the table, Dani catching him.

"Yeah, still hurts."

* * *

**QUIT SQUIRMING**

Gil slapped his hand away.

"Quit squirming. Let me."

He reached up and took over tying Bright's bowtie. The kid let out a long breath, cheeks puffing. His eyes darted from side to side, hands fidgeting. Gil ducked down to catch his eye.

"You know it's gonna be alright, right?"

Bright spared him a fleeting glance. "I just – it's a big night."

Gil nodded, smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content.

"Yep. Sure is. Think you can make it through?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice too high to be sure. "Long as she's still up there when I get there."

Gil chuckled. "I told you years ago, kid. Dani's tougher than both of us. She'll be there." He pulled the bow tight. "There. You're perfect."

"Far from it," Bright muttered. Gil moved his hand to the kid's neck. Bright looked up at him with eyes at war with hope. "What if ... what if I screw it up? Gil, what if I screw _her_ up? My mother –"

"Whatever that thought is, don't finish it. You are not Martin Whitly; you're never gonna hurt anyone the way he hurt Jessica." He squeezed his neck. "And you'd never hurt Dani. We both know that. You're not gonna screw this up, kid. You're gonna make it work. That's what marriage is."

Bright gulped, nodding spasmodically. "Were you this nervous when you married Jackie?"

Gil snorted. "Oh yeah. I was terrified. And that's part of what made it the best day of my life. Soon as I saw her up at the alter, it all vanished." He shook Bright gently. "You're gonna be fine, kid. You're gonna be _happy."_

Bright smiled up at him and for the first time Gil believed it.

"I already am happy."

* * *

**NOW IS NOT A GOOD TIME**

Malcolm sailed through the air, hitting the wall hard and crumpling the ground among flakes of plaster, breath shocked from his lungs. He gasped, bringing one arm up to block a vicious kick to his ribs, and succeeding only in bruising his arm as well. He pivoted, sweeping his leg under his attacker's. They fell hard and Malcolm leapt to his feet and ran.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _Gil_. He dug into it, glancing back to see Jenkins clamber, furious, to his feet and charge after him like a bull. Malcolm darted around the corner, chest heaving, as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

_"Malcolm my boy, how are you? You missed our last visit – I gotta say, I'm feeling kinda neglected over here."_

Malcolm sprinted down the corridor, Jenkins' footsteps heavy behind him.

"Now's not a good time," he managed, reaching out for the emergency exit. A hand caught his collar and yanked him back. He choked, almost dropping the phone. He heard his father's tinny voice.

_"Oh are you on a case? Love to share thoughts! You sound a little out of breath, is everything alright?"_

Jenkins had his arm hooked around Malcolm's neck. He was far taller and, leaning back, Malcolm couldn't reach the floor. He gagged, dropping the phone as he scrabbled for Jenkins' fingers. He grabbed one and _yanked_ , breaking his hold with a grunt. Keeping hold of the digit he swung under Jenkins' arm, pulling behind him and kicking out his knee in one smooth motion. He followed it with an elbow to the head, felling the huge man. He straddled him, keeping a fracturing pressure on his hand.

"I've got to go," he called in the direction of the phone.

_"Oh, well, I'll see you Thursday! Can't wait to hear all about it!"_

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

* * *

**BRACELET**

"Are you nervous?"

Gil glanced up from his wrist and smiled. "Excited."

Malcolm eyed the watch Gil was fiddling with. "Need some help there, boss?"

Chuckling, Gil held out his wrist. Malcolm tightened the clasp. Above them, Jessica's head appeared over the landing.

"You boys almost ready?" she called and Gil looked down at his shoes. Malcolm smiled up at her. She was wearing a golden dress that matched the finishings on Gil's suit. Her hair was in a loose bun that Malcolm doubted was the finished product, given the day.

"We're fine, mother."

"Just checking you're still there. Only an hour left to go! And can someone get me some more gin? I –"

_"Mom,"_ Ainsley moaned, appearing beside her. "For God's sake, will you _sit still_ so I can do your hair?" Jessica grumbled something and disappeared. A moment later, a door upstairs closed.

Malcolm laughed to himself. "I haven't seen her this frazzled since the first time I brought a girl home."

He finished adjusting the watch. Gil took his wrist back, touching it absentmindedly.

"You know," he said, voice gentle, "'boss' might be too formal after today. You might have to call me something different."

Malcolm bit back the full force of his smile. He'd been thinking about this. "I have an idea."

"That reminds me," Gil said, digging a hand into his breast pocket and pulling out a gold bracelet that matched the one on his other wrist. "This," he said, reaching for Malcolm's wrist, "was my dad's. Wore it every day. Got me one just like it. I ... I always thought I'd get one for my kid. Hope you don't mind the hand-me-down."

Malcolm stared at the thin gold chain, the interlocking links slightly scratched but still gleaming. It was beautiful. A warm sense of true belonging blossomed in his chest, pure contentment relaxing every muscle.

"I know it's not like the fancy bling you normally wear," Gil said quickly, "and I'm not asking you to wear it or anything, I just –"

"Gil. I love it."

Relief flooded his face. He nodded, reaching for Malcolm's neck.

"Thank you," Malcolm said. Then, feeling brave, added, for the first time, "Dad."


	4. Chapter 4

**ALONE TIME GIF**

Malcolm stretched, reaching for the shard of wooden beam. His fingertips just scraped it, the still-drying blood painting streaks of desperation on the broken grain. The pain in his leg barked and he relaxed, just breathing. The dried blood on his shirt crinkled as he moved and he wondered again how long before he'd lost too much. He forced his mind to calm, focusing on what he needed to do. Reached for the wooden slat again.

Several agonising minutes later, he had it in his hands. He panted, trying to master the pain. It was getting hot down here, which meant he was slowly running out of oxygen. The building had trapped him in a pocket of space amid the rubble, but if he didn't free his leg he was going to die here. He wedged the slat under the concrete that pinned his leg, pushing it into the river of blood that wound past his hips. Braced himself against it. Took a deep breath and looked up at the hugeness of the rock he was about to try and lift. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and adjusted his grip on the slat.

It was now or never.

Gripping it as high as he could he heaved, pulling with all his might. A scream warbled through clenched teeth and the wood creaked, groaned. Bent. But the rock was inching higher.

Snatching half-lungfuls of air he kept pulling, his damaged ribs stinging viciously. Pain flared in his leg as the rock rose higher. His arms shook and he twisted his hips, trying to drag his broken leg free. The slat moaned. His foot cleared the concrete a heartbeat before the wood broke and the rock slammed down.

He lay back, gasping. Cool blood squelched under his shoulder. He looked up.

Now. How to get out of here.

* * *

**YOU'VE GOT TO STAY AWAKE**

Dani looked back to Bright. Her stomach lurched. His head had lolled to the side, eyes closed. The blood running from his temple was dark and vivid, making his skin look even paler than usual.

"No, no, no, no," she said, reaching for his bloodied cheek and tapping it. "Bright. Bright?"

His brow creased delicately. An almost-hum rumbled in his throat.

"Bright. Open your eyes."

She could see him struggle. It took him over a minute to peer up at her and his gaze had her swallowing down her fear. One pupil was noticeably wider than the other. The light blue of his eyes was clouded, unfocused. His was the sharpest gaze she'd ever seen, as sharp as his intellect. It was wrong to see it so dulled.

"That's good, Bright. You've got to stay awake for me, alright? You understand?"

He gave the barest impression of a nod, the hint of a smile twitching past his lips.

They needed to get out of here. But how? Bright wasn't gonna be able to walk like this and even if he could, there were three assailants in this damn building, at least one of whom was armed with a gun. And the blond one had the bat he'd used to almost kill Bright.

"Dani ..."

She could barely distinguish her name the slurring was so bad.

"I'm here, Bright."

"You need ... to go," he mumbled, voice indistinct.

"Not without you."

His tiny frown deepened.

"Go."

"Nope. You're not my boss."

He closed his eyes, pain shading his features. She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb.

"It's gonna be okay, Bright. Just stay awake. I'll get us out of here."

He hummed again, a lighter sound. She almost did catch his next words.

"Know you will. Trust you."

* * *

**QUIZZICAL**

Malcolm stood over Endicott, knife held steady in his hand. Gil could almost see him thinking. Playing it out in his head. He could kill him. End it, right now. Save his entire family, and the team. He knows enough about medicine to make it quick, too. Humane, even. Not that Endicott deserves such mercy.

"Bright," Gil said slowly and clearly, his voice steady and calm. "I need you to listen to me."

Martin scoffed and took another step, pulling the cable taught. "Please, Gil, spare us the moral expounding. Malcolm, my boy," he said, voice lowering to something slick and frenzied. "You have a chance to be the hero here. Save your old man, Jessie, your baby sister. You're not gonna give that up over _him_ are you?"

Malcolm's head began to tremble. His jaw worked, but he didn't speak.

"Bright," Gil said again, raising his voice over Endicott's gagged excuses. His eyes were wide, staring up at Bright in open fear. Gil tried to pull himself closer, to take the knife away from his kid, but his damn leg wouldn't cooperate. He was stuck, watching this. Watching Bright turn into the monster he'd always been so afraid of.

Bright took a step closer. Endicott shook, struggling in his bonds.

"You can do it, my boy," Martin cooed. "Just like with me. Just one, quick move and it's aaaaall over."

"Don't do it, kid. Please."

The trembling was worse. Martin's eyes were glued to the knife, Gil's to Bright's conflicted face.

Slowly, Bright stepped back, shoulders slumping in defeat, knife falling from his grasp.

"No!" Martin shouted as Endicott relaxed. "Malcolm! For God's sake, just _kill him!_ You need to protect your family! Be a man, goddamn it!"

Bright's shoulders hunched, bearing the words like lashes. He turned away from his father and walked to Gil, bending down to help him up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, low enough that the others wouldn't hear.

Gil almost laughed. "What the hell are you sorry about, kid?"

Bright finally met his gaze, his expression quizzical.

"I blew it," he said quietly. "Endicott's men will strike. I didn't protect –"

"You did the _right thing,"_ Gil said firmly, drowning his admonishments. "I'm proud of you, kid. Now come on, let's call the guard and figure this mess out."

* * *

**ZEALOT**

Brady giggled, tightening his grip on Malcolm's throat, knife pressing a little harder into his cheek. Dani and JT shifted their weight, their grips on their guns, waiting for the shot.

"It's okay," Malcolm said bracingly, working to keep his voice steady. "I know you don't want to hurt me, right Brady?" He tried to look up at the man's face but couldn't see past the knife. "You're just trying to spread God's word, right?"

"You don't understand," Brady babbled. "None of you do! I _have_ to do this, He wants me to, He _needs_ me to!"

"I believe you," Malcolm said quickly. The blade moved closer to his eye and he swallowed.

"I don't need you to believe me," Brady snarled. "I need you to _see_."

The knife tilted, blade flashing silver and Malcolm closed his eyes, flinching back with a cry he meant to keep behind his teeth. The arm across his throat squeezed and he gasped, choking.

"Killing him won't bring your sister back, Brady," Dani called. Malcolm squinted at her. She holstered her gun. "God doesn't take sacrifices."

"Yes He _does!"_ Brady shouted, jerking Malcolm back so his hold on his throat was all that kept him upright. The tip of the knife bit into his skin, just below his eye, raising a bead of blood that fell like a tear over his cheek. "He sent his prophets to tell us how to live and we ignored them! He spared Abraham's son because Abraham was _willing_ to sacrifice him! He will restore Elaina to me if I fulfil His wishes, I know He will! You call me zealot _but I know the truth!_ I’ve seen the future He promised me!"

Malcolm was fading. The pressure on his throat was crushing, his vision was darkening. He knew what to say to get out of this, the words were waiting on his tongue, but he couldn't get the air to speak them. Blackness came for him and he slumped.

A gunshot woke up, and a pain in his head. He gasped for air, hand coming to his throat to find it free. He looked up, bewildered. Dani had Brady on his stomach, blood pooling from his shoulder. JT relaxed out of his shooting posture and holstered his gun.

"You good, Bright?"

Malcolm raised a shaky thumbs up, then let his hand flop to his chest as he lay there, just enjoying breathing.

* * *

**KABOOM**

Malcolm woke up slowly, head throbbing. He tried to lift a hand to his temple but it wouldn't obey. He peered down at his hands, found them bound behind him. That wasn't good. He looked up and stilled.

"Took you long enough," the man said calmly, watching him from where he sat on a backwards chair.

"So it's you," Malcolm mumbled. He blinked, trying to clear his head. Looked the man up and down. He was the right age for the profile. Malcolm's gaze zeroed in on the burns marring his hands. He nodded to them. "When did it happen? Eight months ago?"

The man chuckled mirthlessly. "Don't pull that psycho crap on me, cop. Doesn't do much for me."

Malcolm huffed a laugh. "Hate to be the one to break it to you, but, I'm a profiler. Psycho crap is kind of my thing."

"Huh. Well, that might be fortunate for you."

"Oh? How so?"

The man raised his other burned hand, revealing a home-made detonator, complete with a tiny yellow light blinking steadily. "Maybe you'll be able to survive what's coming. With all that psycho know-how."

Malcolm swallowed. There had already been four explosions. Almost a seventy were dead. The FBI was already taking over, but Major Crimes were liasing. Or, they had been. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out.

"What can I call you?" he asked, to buy time.

"Callaghan."

"Why do you feel the need to –"

Callaghan stood, making the chair screech. "I told you not to bother with all that shit. I haven't had an audience before. Just thought I'd try it." He walked over and knelt in front of Malcolm, smiling. "Want to know where the bomb is."

"Yes," Malcolm lied.

"In the basement of the sixteenth precinct. Thing all those feds and cops will solve the case from hell?"

Malcolm's stomach plummeted. "No, no. No, you can't – just, let me talk, I can find a way out of this for you, I can –"

"Don't you get it, profiler?" Callaghan interrupted. "I don't care what you think. What you want." He raised the hand with the detonator. "I care about my fun. My projects."

"Please," Malcolm breathed. "Don't.

The burned thumb reached for the button. Pressed it down. The light blinked off.

Callaghan smiled. "Kaboom."

* * *

**BACKFIRE**

"This isn't gonna work," JT warned.

Malcolm smiled. "Sure it is. Have a little faith, Jessop Tyrion."

JT raised an eyebrow at him. "Tyrion?"

Malcolm shrugged. "That show was on last night. Caught a few scenes."

"Mm-hmm."

Malcolm straightened his back and adjusted his grip on his cargo behind his back.

Dani was sitting at her desk, her expression as miserable as it had been all week. Malcolm was pretty sure this was more than personal drama – she'd been cagey with them all lately, even sassier than usual. Anniversary of a personal loss was his best guess. And he knew from experience how much they could suck.

"Dani?"

She didn't look up at him. "What, Bright?"

"I got you something." He pulled the Gerber daisies from behind his back. "Thought they might – oh no, Dani?"

Tears filled her eyes, her expression crumpling. He didn't even know Dani _had_ tear ducts.

"Dani, I'm so sorry, I thought – I'll take them away, I –"

She shook her head. Sniffed. Rose to her feet and reached for the flowers. She held them close to her chest for a long moment before looking up at him, her expression as vulnerable as it was accusing.

"Did you profile this too?"

"What? No, I just," he began, feeling himself blush, "like daisies. They're ... happy."

She shoved them into his chest, expression shuttering.

"I don't need your pity. Tell Gil to back off."

She stalked away, leaving Malcolm to wonder what Gil had to do with this.

"Told you it wouldn't work," JT grunted from his desk.

"It did somewhat backfire," Malcolm relented, wondering why she held them so tenderly and then shoved them at him like they'd burned her. Unless ... shit. "Hold on."

He found her in the stairwell, trying to sniff her tears back beneath her lashes.

"It was your dad," he said tactlessly. "He used to get you Gerber daisies, didn't he?"

She threw him a glare. "Jesus, Bright, why can't you just turn it off for once? I'm not some puzzle for you to –"

"I know you're not," he said gently, stepping closer, hands raised. "I'm sorry. I just mean, I can understand that. And I'm sorry I reminded you. I swear it was a coincidence."

She considered him through a heavy scowl for a long moment.

"You just got me flowers?"

He shrugged. "I just got you flowers."

She looked down, wiping a final tear away angrily.

"Thanks."

Malcolm opened his arms. "Need a hug?"

Dani chuckled, play-punching his arm as she passed.

"Don't push your luck, Bright."


	5. Chapter 5

**EXSANGUINATE**

Malcolm had lost track of the days. He suspected it was more than three. Definitely more than one since Big Nose had abandoned him, tied up and dying. He'd fantasise about Gil and the others catching Big Nose, finding out his name, interrogating him until he gave up where Malcolm was. But there were darker thoughts, too. Big Nose dying with his secret in a shoot out. Or just ... leaving. It didn't fit with the profile to walk away from a subject, but then, Malcolm had been wrong before.

Being wrong is what got him into this mess.

The restraints had long-since rawed his wrist and ankles from his struggles, his aggressive fits of sleep. But he didn't feel those low burns anymore. Couldn't feel the energy whiz through him like a Catherine Wheel either. There was just ... cold. Numb. Tired.

Malcolm was no stranger to tiredness. But this _fatigue_ was a new beast. It dragged on his muscles, pulling him down and demanding rest but hours lying on this table did nothing to restore him. His mind was stuffed with fog. Putting a thought together took so long he'd forget what he wanted to think by the time he thought it. He was suspended in this hazy existence, unable to speak through the gag, unable to do anything but watch the red tube curve away from his neck and over his torso, hear his blood drip into the tank that surely must be almost full by now. He felt like he'd bled a river.

Big Nose's art surrounded him. Canvases in shades of burgundy depicting screams and suffering and sorrow, painted with such skill their beauty made Malcolm sick. He'd stare at them for hours, falling into the layers of his coming death, fixating on how he was nothing but a tool. For Big Nose, for his father. For Gil.

Sleep became clingy. It never let go of him. Kept him trapped in half-dreams of rescue and abandonment, stuck to his feeble thoughts like burs. He knew he'd die in its embrace, and he hated the irony. Sleep had never been his friend, not since he was a deluded little kid and after all these years of it torturing him it was going to snuff him out completely. He supposed he should be grateful. There were far worse ways to die. Exsanguination was almost humane.

But he didn't want to die. As tantalising as its peace sounded, he wanted to do _more._ Help more, save more, _li_ _ve_ more. He wasn't ready to say goodbye to his family. His team. His bird.

His eyelids dropped, his heart too weary to trip in fear. The cold was wrapped around him in a parody of a blanket. It was almost comforting. He could barely feel himself anymore. Couldn't find that flickering flame he'd been holding on to. He knew this was it.

He wasn't ready.

* * *

**NERVE**

This was a bad idea. He knew it was. It was irrational. Illogical. Completely at odds with the counsel of the people he trusted most. Damaging, even. For his career. For him.

And yet. Here he was.

It was only two steps. Maybe three. He could do that.

But should he?

There was a reason he'd not done this in so long. And it wasn't just because these situations brought on a flavour of vulnerability he found unpleasant. But what this could do for his mental state ... it could be another thread to unravel. Another corner of doubt lit and given voice. Another mystery he might never be able to solve. Another wound just waiting to bleed before it scarred.

God, he had enough scars.

This was a bad idea.

Malcolm took a deep breath and took the three steps. Steeling his nerve, he looked up and met her gaze.

"Dani?"

"Bright," she nodded, smiling at his formal tone.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" he said in a rush, desperate for the breath after the risk.

Dani blinked. Bit her lip. Glanced away for a second. Malcolm's heart was thundering through him, jolting him as her eyes met his again.

"I'm free tomorrow. Around seven."

* * *

**X-ACTO KNIFE**

A faint ticking filled the silence. Malcolm turned to the corpse still being catalogued on the floor.

"Huh."

JT glanced sideways at him. "Huh? What d'you mean 'huh'?"

Malcolm shot him a smile. "I mean I'm pretty sure the bomb the unsub threatened us with is _in_ the body."

They all turned to stare at the obese man, now wondering if all that bulge was fat.

"You've got to be kidding me," JT sighed, phone already in hand to call the bomb squad.

"We need to clear the area," Gil said, waving CSIs away. "All non-essentials leave _now."_

"We can't leave," Malcolm said at the same time Edrisa did. They glanced at each other, smiling while everyone else glared daggers at them.

"There's too much evidence on the body we haven't gotten yet," Malcolm said, using his most persuasive voice.

"And the body itself is evidence," Edrisa added. "Also, you know, a living person who deserves a proper burial, not –" she gestured with her hands, mimicking an explosion – "that."

"Well then what do you propose we do?" Gil asked sarcastically. "Cut it out?"

"Yes!" Edrisa and Malcolm chorused. Gil rolled his eyes, obviously praying for patience.

"We are not doing that."

"But I can do it!," Edrisa said, pulling something from her pocket. "I have this!" She popped off the cap and held up an X-ACTO knife.

JT eyed her warily. "You just ... had that? In your pocket?"

She glanced to him, shrugging. "I like knives."

"She likes knives," he repeated, staring wide-eyed at his shoes.

"She can do it, Gil," Malcolm pressed, gesturing to the corpse. "And if she doesn't we may as well abandon the case right now – we don't even have an ID yet!"

Gil passed a hand over his face, aging before their eyes.

"It's just like Operation," Edrisa chimed in. "I'm _really_ good at Operation."

JT snorted.

"How far out is BSU?" Gil asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Plenty of time," Malcolm said as though discussing a jaunt to the coffee shop.

"And if you trigger it?" Gil countered.

"I won't!" Edrisa chirped. "I'm _really_ good at Operation. Also, y'know, I'm a qualified medical examiner with eight years experience with autopsies."

"Yes, but none of those autopsies were trying to _kill_ you," Gil pointed out.

"True," she said slowly.

"Fine!" Gil barked, flying his hands skyward. "But if you all die, I am _not_ doing the paperwork!"

* * *

**CABLE**

The precinct was quiet. Empty. The automated lights weren't coming on as Malcolm stepped through the desks. Where was everyone? Had Gil called them off when they learned about the threat? But then where was he? And Dani and JT?

This didn't make sense.

He was about to turn, reaching for his phone when a hand flashed over his head holding something black and an abrupt pressure on his throat had him gasping. Malcolm was pulled back onto a body bigger than his and he acted quickly, using the assailant as a brace while he heaved his legs onto the nearest desk and pushed back. The attacher stumbled, but kept his grip. Malcolm reached for the think around his throat – it felt like a computer cable – and tried to pull it off but of course he didn't have the right leverage. He reached back to gouge the man's eyes but he turned, twisting Malcolm off his feet, onto his knees, then down onto his stomach, the weight of the attacker only adding to his struggle to breathe.

Malcolm bucked, trying to unseat him. His vision was swimming in fuzzy black spots. The pain in his throat leeched down to his lungs. His grip on the cable slipped.

A gunshot cracked through the air and the weight on Malcolm increased, pinning him, pressing his face into the carpet. He closed his eyes.

Someone was speaking. The weight rolled off him and Malcolm gasped, choking on the air as it finally came. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him onto his back.

"You good, Bright?" Dani panted, brow creased in worry.

Malcolm nodded, still trying to soothe the fire in his lungs.

"You're late," he wheezed when he could trust his voice.

Dani rolled her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**ABSOLUTION**

"Kid, listen –"

"NO, Gil!" Bright's eyes were wide and manic, hands gesticulating wildly. "Don't tell me to _listen!_ Don't tell me this isn't my fault! I was there! I could've stopped it!"

Gil heaved a breath, hands on his hips, watching as Bright paced his office.

"Yeah," he said at last, unable to keep the bite out of his tone. "You could've stopped it."

Bright stopped mid-step and looked at him, shock painting his face.

"If you'd figured it out sooner. Am I right?"

Bright sank onto the couch, dropping his head into his hands.

"Yeah."

"Because it's all up to you, isn't it? This team – JT, Dani, me – we're just," he waved a hand, finding the word, "here. To help you with your profile."

Bright peered up at him, confused now. "Gil, that's not –"

"Because none of us can solve a case without you –"

"Gil, no, I –"

"Because anyone who gets hurt out there," he snapped, gesturing to the window, "is your responsibility, isn't that it? Every victim of every killer – all their blood is on your hands as soon as you know they exist, right?"

The kid's eyes were round and shining, hurt as evident as the tears he wouldn't let fall. Gil's heart shivered in his chest, urging him to stop, but the rage was too powerful, too tired of being held back for so many years.

"Gil ..."

The tiny quake in the single word lanced through the anger, turning it to ice in an instant. Gil's shoulders slumped. He stepped forward and knelt in front of the kid, like he had that first night. Reached out for his neck and gripped it tight.

"You've been hanging yourself on an evil man's noose since you were ten years old, kid. I need you to stop. What happened today wasn't your fault, any more than it was mine or Dani's or JT's. Sometimes things just go sideways, and there's nothing you can do. You know that, kid, I know you do."

The kid avoided his eye. Nodded, without meaning it. Gil sighed.

"Someday you're gonna have to forgive yourself, kid," he said quietly. "It's never been your fault. Show yourself some kindness, eh? Find some ... absolution."

Bright nodded again, eyes dry now. Then shook his head.

"I don't know how, Gil."

"I know, kid." He squeezed his neck. "But I can show you."

* * *

**HACKSAW**

Malcolm bit down on the scream, screwing his eyes shut. It wasn't real. It wasn't. It was a dream. Just another terror to live through. He _knew_ that.

At least he hoped he did.

The chains felt real against his wrists, though. The blood on his shirt was sticky and half-dried, pulling on his skin. That felt real too. So did the awful cold seeping through him, gnawing on his bare toes. And the fear. The loneliness. The barely contained panic hurtling through his veins. That felt real.

And John looked real. Smelled real. Sounded real. The _thunk_ of his bag of horrors as he set it down sure sent a real shiver up Malcolm's spine.

He forced his eyes open, telling himself it was better to know what was coming. Telling himself he had to _work,_ had to read how best to get himself out of here. Or at least, how best to neutralise John.

So he saw John reach into the green back, feeling around for the next implement of torment. He knew it would be a hacksaw before it came free of the fabric. Already knew the bite of those rusty teeth, the jagged scrape of it through his skin, grating along his bone.

John grinned up at him. "Are you ready for the next trial, little Malcolm?"

Malcolm closed his eyes and tried not to whimper.

What if this was real?

* * *

**VOODOO**

"Anything else you can tell us about the body?" Gil asked, gesturing to the corpse on the table.

Edrisa nodded enthusiastically, "Yes! There were trace amounts of arsenic in his blood but that wasn't the cause of death. He was force fed," she said, reaching to a metal tray and pulling up a bloody glob of – "wool!"

"Wool?" JT clarified, his usual Edrisa eyebrow raising.

"Yep! It was partially digested but from what I can tell it was crocheted into a shape beforehand. Can't tell what shape 'cause of, um, interference."

"That's what we're calling blood and guts now?" JT deadpanned.

Edrisa looked to him. "Um, we could? Oh but this reminds me!" She darted to the counter and pulled something out of her bag. "I started teaching myself crochet so I could join this _wicked_ crochet group downtown –"

"I don't think that exists."

"– and turns out I'm pretty good at it!"

She turned around and held up a ... thing.

"Um," Dani said, eying it warily. "What ... is it?"

Edrisa gawped at her. "Can't you tell? It's Bright!"

Malcolm's head whipped up from the body. He took in the blue and beige mess of tangled wool and opened his mouth to say something, before every word in every language he knew promptly fled him.

"It's ..." Gil tried. "Impressive."

"Thanks! I've only been at it a week."

"A week." JT nodded. Then leaned over to Malcolm and whispered, "If you wanna press charges I got you."

Malcolm waved a hand and found his voice. "I think it's great."

Edrisa beamed, bouncing slightly as she put the cursed object away. While she was distracted, Dani stepped closer to Malcolm and said quietly,

"Should we be concerned Edrisa made a voodoo doll of you?"

JT snorted, quickly turning it into a somewhat convincing cough.

"It's flattering," Malcolm whispered back, scowling at Dani.

She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright but if you wake up in the middle of the night with a needle-like pain in your heart don't call me."

"I don't think that's where the pin would go," JT muttered.

* * *

**INCONSPICUOUS**

"Would you gentlemen like some tea?" he offered, keeping the anxiety off his face and out of his tone.

The detectives nodded. "Thank you, Mr James, that would be great."

Mr James nodded with a smile – a specially chosen one that belayed none of his indignance – and slipped into the kitchen. He didn't have time to grab the vial – it was in the dining room, with the detectives. He'd have to be careful.

The smaller one was on the couch when he came back. "Milk or sugar?"

"Not for me, thanks," the old one said.

"Sugar would be great," the little one said. "Three, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Mr James turned to the tray, keeping his back to the intruders. If he played this right he'd have time two new toys to play with. He'd have to be smart though, cops cared when one of their badges died. He palmed the vial free of its home on the pretence of reaching for the sugar bowl – the empty one that was for show in his bookcase – and, being as inconspicuous as all his training allowed him to be, emptied it between the two cups, then stirred sugar into his own.

"Now," he said jovially, turning back around. "You wanted to ask me about poor Jeremy? Here you are, Detective Bright," he added, handing the smaller man his cup.

"It's mister, not detective."

Oh?

"I'm sorry. Detective?" He glanced to the old one, who nodded, smiling. He took his tea and held it, not sipping.

"We wanted to know what sort of state he was in in your last meeting, for his thesis."

There was nothing quite like that jolt, that special thrill of watching someone fall under your power. The young one took a hearty sip of the tea – he must need the caffeine, judging by the bags under his eyes – swallowing it and returning the cup to its saucer, not knowing he'd just sealed his fate. It was a delicious moment.

"Ah, yes. He was ... agitated. Moreso than usual. I assumed it was because his deadline was coming up. And he was behind. Still had two whole chapters to edit."

The small one took another sip, frowning slightly. Was he feeling it already? Mr James kept talking, distracting him with inane details about his third victim, painting the picture of a child caught in a tantrum. The young one took another sip, but hesitated, looking down at the cup. Beside him, the old one raised the cup for his first sip. One was all it took. The other one raised a hand and it shook, the sedative already working to slow his mind as the detective took a slow gulp.

"Gil," the young one said, voice taught. "Don't drink that."

Too late. They were his.


	7. Chapter 7

**X-OUT**

"It's an amazing system," Sawyer said excitedly, pointing to the screens. "You see how he’s hooked up to the mask? It controls the concentration of oxygen, from say," he twiddled a dial on the bank of controls before them, "a high saturation." The slender subject on the table in the first screen relaxed, chest heaving as he gulped in deep breaths. "To a low saturation," Sawyer continued, twirling the dial the other way, "so that the air is unbreathable."

Jasper watched the slightly pixelated figure still then thrash desperately in his bonds, head and chest bucking as they fought for air that wasn't there.

"Impressive," he said quietly, nodding. Sawyer thumbed the dial up and the subject relaxed. "What else?"

"Well, each subject can be hooked up to an IV like our 'volunteer' here, and we have complete remote control of a wide range of drugs, from hallucinogens to adrenaline – if we want to measure endurance in sleep deprivation, for example – to poisons and paralytics so we can track pain response."

Jasper allowed himself a small smile. "I like it."

Sawyer beamed, relaxing visibly.

"Where'd you find the volunteer?"

Sawyer waved a hand. "Oh he was just some guy nosing around one of our side businesses. Fancied himself a cop with all his psychoanalysing. Didn't even have a gun though. Figured we'd use him to test the new equipment. Then we can either kill him, sell him, or test the efficacy of our amnesia cocktails."

Jasper nodded again. His eye was drawn to a small black button with an X on it. He pointed to it.

"What's that?"

Sawyer beamed. "That's fun. I call it the X-OUT. Here, let me show you." He pressed it, and Jasper's eyes flicked to the slender subject in the top screen.

White lines danced around his figure as he convulsed violently, thrashing so hard he would've dislodged the mask if it weren't secured around his head so well. His eyes were wide, bright and even from this distance, alight with pain. Abruptly, the subject collapsed on the table, white dancing over his unresponsive form.

"In case there's ever an emergency," Sawyer explained. "We've implanted an electronic receiver in each subject. Push a button, and they're knocked out, rendered completely neutral."

"I like it," Jasper said, biting back a grin. "I'll take it."

* * *

**FRISK**

Dani chuckled, rolling her eyes as Bright launched into yet another rant about the hierarchies of candies. He had _strong_ opinions about this. She took a sip of her coffee, eyes wandering around the precinct as his voice lulled the tension from her shoulders.

She liked their new post-case tradition, Bright going on and on about something no one cared about in that infectious way he had that somehow made Dani care, JT pretending not to listen but snorting at all the right moments, and whatever hot drink she could get her hands on first.

JT and Bright had their back to the elevator, so neither of them saw the man enter. Dani's eye was drawn to him unconsciously and she watched him step into the bullpen, frowning slightly. He looked ... familiar. She glanced to the conference room, to the case board. Wasn't that?

"Shit!" She leapt up, coffee sloshing free as the mug fell. She reached for her gun as Bright and JT looked around, her mouth already open to shout an order.

But she wasn't fast enough. Jenkins pulled a machine gun from his coat and pointed it right at her.

The muzzle flashed.

Dani flew backwards, breath punching from her. Her head smacked into the ground and she froze, waiting for the rest of the pain to come.

It didn't.

She looked down. Bright was lying beside her, his arm still wrapped around her chest. He lay on his stomach, facing away from her.

And there were three dark red stains growing on his suit jacket.

"No," she breathed, twisting herself onto her knees and pressing her hands into the blood. Behind her, JT was moving, along with three other officers. She risked a glance over the desk and saw Jenkins on the ground, the gun already secured.

"No one thought to frisk this guy?" JT barked, twisting Jenkin's arms back to cuff him. "Who's on security?"

"Bright?" Dani murmured, leaning down to see his face. His eyes were closed, brows puckered in pain. "Hold on, Bright. Please, hold on."

* * *

**I WON'T ASK AGAIN**

Oh _hell_. Malcolm should've known this would happen from the moment he woke up. He was an idiot. A moron. He'd _let_ this happen.

And if he didn't act now, she would suffer because of it. Because of him.

"Drop it," he said as forcefully as he could.

The pill jerked, moved by her tongue. If she swallowed that, she was dead. He couldn't get help in time. Not here. Not now.

"Drop it. I won't ask again."

Sunshine bobbed, his benzo held securely in her beak. If too much of that chalk chipped away ...

"Sunshine."

She stared up at him. He glared back.

He lunged for her and she took to the air, hooting in delight at the game. He ran after her, socks slipping on the floor, and after three desperate swipes she evaded easily, the pill _plunked_ to the ground. Malcolm dove on it, stuffing it in his mouth before Sunshine could land on it.

"Ha!" he said around it. "I win!"

He pulled a face at the taste. Sunshine twittered from the back of the couch.

She probably didn't mean it to sound like laughter.

* * *

**RAGGED**

Gil sat down with a satisfied sigh and reached for his whiskey. Jinx mewed softly and leapt into his lap, recognising the opportunity for a good nap. Gil scratched her soft head with his free hand for a moment, then reached for his book.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

"Oh for –" He set his whiskey down on the coffee table and lifted a disgruntled Jinx onto the couch. "Sorry, girl."

It was almost eleven on his first night off in far too long, who the hell would be –

He opened the door and stopped mid-curse.

Bright leant on the door frame, his blue suit black with water, blood dripping from his temple. He looked awful, clothes dishevelled, eyes dull and heavy-lidded. Ragged.

"Kid ..." Gil breathed, all annoyance eroded by concern, and a prickling of fear.

"Hey, Gil," Bright panted. "Can I ... can I stay here tonight?"

Gil nodded, gesturing him in. Bright took one step and collapsed into his arms with a shaking sigh.

"I got you, kid," Gil whispered as Bright's weight brought him to his knees. His head flopped against Gil's shoulder, his eyelids fluttering under furrowed brows. The blood on his temple was dark and clotted.

"What the hell happened to you, kid?"


	8. Chapter 8

**METHODICAL**

There was a right way to do things. And a wrong way. Most people don't care as long as the thing gets done, but Melvin cared. Most of the time it seemed he was the _only_ one that cared.

So he worked carefully. Methodically. Like an artist preparing their canvas, he made everything right before he started. Tied the man with bright eyes down carefully. Removed his suit jacket and overpriced shirt. Made certain the gag was tight and effective, eliciting an experimental scream to make sure the soundproofing was doing the job.

Taking this particular man had been an uncharacteristic risk for Melvin. He worked with the people who did not appreciate his skill, his attention to detail, his artistry. They wanted to stop him doing things right. So he'd taken one of them. Most people, the people who didn't care if things were done right or wrong, cared instead about each other. About *emotions*. Which was as helpful as a newly sharpened scalpel.

Let's see them crack their precious case when the next body is their blue-eyed friend. Let's see how focused they are then.

Melvin turned and chose a tool from his tray of knives.

* * *

**OBEY**

Sometimes, there wasn't a choice. Not one you could live with. Sometimes your needs, your desires, they're all stripped away, torn from your bloody heart until it's so broken down it agrees to something it would never have considered.

Malcolm's heart was drowning in its own blood in his chest. His hands shook at his sides, their freedom from the zip ties a mockery. The image of Dani, tied and on her knees, was blurry. He blinked and flinched as heat bit into his cheek. He turned his gaze to Gil, his forehead bloody, his hands still held behind his back. To JT, barely conscious, slumped against the pillar.

"Make your choice, Profiler," Derek repeated. "Pick who you save. Pick who dies."

Sometimes all you can do is obey. And sometimes, even when it's the hardest decision you've ever had to make, the answer comes easily.

"Me," he croaked, wrenching his gaze away from his teammates. "Kill me. I chose them. They live."

His friends' protests were cut short by swift blows and swifter blood. Derek smiled. Raised his gun.

"If you insist, Profiler."

Malcolm took one last look at the family he had found for himself. He smiled at them, holding their faces in his mind like the treasure they were.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

**CRUSH**

The explosion rattled the entire building, sending a stormcloud of dust raining down on them, shrinking the world to the next two steps. Malcolm heard Dani cry out, something important, given her tone, but the words were lost to the cotton in his ears. Chunks of apartment fell around him and he threw his arms up to shield himself and staggered on, heading for Dani's voice. He'd almost made it when the ceiling gave in and everything went black.

He woke to a hand on his cheek. Dani leant over him, the blood on the side of her face illuminated by her phone's flashlight. He grinned, sucking in a breath to ask her if she knew about 1920s shadow puppet theatre – but the crushing weight trying to break his chest cut him off mid-thought.

"Don't move," Dani said quietly, her voice echoing weirdly. Malcolm looked around. A chunk of something that had once been a building had pinned him, another piece lying nearby at an angle, trapping them in a tiny triangle in the corner.

"Gil," he rasped, wincing as the weight grew heavier. "J-JT?"

"I don't know. But we've gotta get this thing off you before you suffocate."

He nodded, trying to move his arms up to grip the concrete. "Sounds – good."

"I said don't move!"

He froze, startled by the fear sneaking under the irritation in her voice.

"Sorry."

"Can you move your toes?"

Oh. Yeah. Right.

Holding his breath, he catalogued the rest of his body. Arms were sore but fine. Pelvis seemed okay. Legs ... could move.

He nodded, not trying to hide his relief. Dani deflated a little beside him.

"You – okay?" he croaked. The cut on her temple looked bad – stitches bad. She might have a concussion. He tried checking her pupils, but it was too dark to see them in the depths of her umber eyes and it took him a moment to realise she'd answered. He blinked, hoping it was too dark to see the blush warming his cheeks.

"I'm gonna pull while you lie there still, okay? Then we're gonna wait for ESU."

Malcolm nodded, deciding air was a commodity best saved for breathing. Dani shifted beside him, her boots planting beside his elbow. She'd taken off her jacket and the stark light made the muscles of her arms stand out as she braced against the slab.

"On three."

Malcolm braced himself. Breathed as deeply as he dared. Surreptitiously manoeuvred his arms. When Dani heaved, he pushed himself hard, dragging himself free of the slab the moment he could wriggle out. Dani growled something scolding but leapt back as the slab groaned and lurched flush with the floor.

They both stared at the spot where Malcolm had been lying two seconds ago, both imagining the crunch of bone and squelch of blood.

Malcolm slumped onto his back, the pain in his chest demanding attention. Dani came to sit beside him, her hand finding his shoulder.

"You good, Bright?"

He did his best to smile and raised a shaking thumb, keeping his eyes closed as he wrangled the pain into something he could breathe around. The delicate touch of Dani's fingers on his forehead, smoothing back his ruffled hair, had him open them again. She was looking down at him, that rare softness in her gaze and for the millionth time he wondered what it meant. Swallowing his uncertainty he hitched a smile onto his lips and asked,

"Wanna play I Spy?"

* * *

**LATCHKEY KID**

He turned the lock in the key and heaved the door open. Was sure to lock it properly behind him, or else Dad would be mad. Kicked off his shoes, then lined them up neatly along the wall. He dumped his bag in the living room on his way to the kitchen. He took his time foraging for food. There wasn't much in the refrigerator, except beer. He'd take one, if he wasn't sure Dad would find out. Settled for a PB&J with extra J.

He wasn't meant to watch TV until his homework was done, but Mom wouldn't be home for hours so who was there to care? Long as he had all his work to show Dad before bed he'd be fine. Provided he didn't mess any of it up.

But he didn't do that anymore. He was nine. Smartest kid in the class, Ms Taylor had said at the last parent teacher meeting.

He flicked through the channels till he found a true crime documentary and sat on the floor, his bag beside him, plate on his lap. He bet he could figure out who did it before they revealed the killer. He was good at that. Maybe that's what he'd do, when he was older. When he was out of this stuffy house with all its rules and lies and pretending everything was fine when he wanted to scream how wrong it all was every second he was here.

Martin took a bite of his sandwich and turned his mind to the gruesome murder of Annalise Gibbons, drinking in every tiny detail.


End file.
